


Five Times Steve was a parent and One Time someone was a parent to him

by Movie_Riggs



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: 5+1 Fic, F/M, It's a lot of pressure being a single working dad, Joyce being the best mom of all, S3 Canon Compliant, Steve just wants his kids to be okay, Teenagers being hormonal, The Wheeler parents fighting, Will being closeted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2020-06-24 11:42:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19722973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Movie_Riggs/pseuds/Movie_Riggs
Summary: "Let me explain to you dipshits how the chain of command works: I tell you to do something, and you do it. Capiche?"Ted couldn't care less about what Mike is doing.Mr. Henderson died years ago.Lonnie ditched his family.Mr. Mayfield is in California.And now, Hopper's gone too.Needless to say, Steve is now the father figure to a lot of kids, and he's doing his best.





	Five Times Steve was a parent and One Time someone was a parent to him

**Author's Note:**

> There's a good chance that Hopper is still alive, but damn, Season 3 was still a punch to the gut. 
> 
> (It was fantastic though, and maybe my favorite season)

**1\. I'm sitting at the head of the table now - Winter 1984**

Perhaps the most unusual part of Christmas Eve this year was that Steve was eating a real meal with other people. Separately, those two things wouldn't have been unusual, but it was never both of them, always just one or the other. Either his parents were out of town and he was treating himself to a nice dinner at Enzo's on his father's credit card or they were in town and ordering a "Christmas pizza," whatever the hell that meant.

So the fact that he was eating a full Christmas dinner--the smoked ham and the mashed potatoes and the rolls and everything--and was eating it in the company of Dustin and Mrs. Henderson, no less, would have been a shock to any outsider looking in who didn't know about what happened last month.

When Steve arrived, the table was already set. Mrs. Henderson ushered him in, one hand busy holding a tiny Siamese cat, where he left his gray Members Only jacket and shoes at the door. Dustin was in the den shaking the presents under the tree with careful consideration. Every so often he would mumble something to himself. 

"Dusty, your guest is here," Mrs. Henderson called. "Did you set the table like I asked?"

Dustin rolled his eyes. "Mom, it's clearly right there!" he said, gesturing at the piece of furniture in question.

"Well, let's eat, then!" his mom declared, smiling at Steve.

It had been a little weird for all three of them when Steve started coming over, usually to give Dustin a ride to the arcade or something. Of course Mrs. Henderson had wanted to know how her thirteen-year-old son had befriended a high school senior so quickly, and Steve honestly never knew what to say to that and was glad she never asked him outright, even though she had clearly wanted to. Instead, he always let Dustin do the talking, and boy could that kid _talk_. And lie, too. As far as Mrs. Henderson was now concerned, the official story was that Good Samaritan Steve Harrington had saved Dustin and the rest of the Party from a couple of troll-sized bullies on Halloween night. Steve had just smiled and nodded along, and once Mrs. Henderson heard that and saw how good the rapport between the two young men was, he had become welcome anytime.

Even so, Steve had still been planning to spend Christmas Eve as he had for the past couple of years. A nice dinner at Enzo's and a couple of raunchy movies at home. Then he had received a call out-of-the-blue from Mrs. Henderson. Oh, he knew it was really Dustin's doing. The little shit had no doubt craftily weaved some sob story about how Steve was being left all alone on Christmas, knowing that his mom would call and knowing that Steve wouldn't turn down the invitation. And he was right. Former King Steve could be a pretty good asshole when he wanted to be, but even he knew better than to turn down a single mother's invite to a holiday dinner. Besides, the thought of a home-cooked meal had been tempting.

_With good reason_ , Steve thought as he took his first bite of ham. Mrs. Henderson was a hell of a cook, as it turned out.

Dustin was oddly cheerful throughout the entire dinner. He was oddly cheerful anyway, Steve supposed, but especially tonight. In contrast, Mrs. Henderson actually looked ever-so-slightly uncomfortable, and Steve couldn't decipher why. 

Once dinner and dessert were both over, Dustin returned to the den to continue inspecting presents. Steve volunteered to help with the dishes.

While Mrs. Henderson washed and he dried, both of them kept their eyes on what they were doing. Steve caught his reflection in the kitchen window at one point, and wondered absentmindedly if he should try growing a mustache sometime.

"So...uh..." Steve cleared his throat. "I'm not, you know, good at reading people or anything. Especially not adults, I don't really talk to them much. But...it's not weird for you that I'm over here or anything, is it?"

"Oh, no, of course not," Mrs. Henderson assured him. "You know, it's just..." She cast a quick glance behind them to ensure Dustin was occupied before continuing. "It's just that the spot you sat at tonight, at the table? That was Mr. Henderson's spot. A long time ago. And no one's sat there since...since he..." She waved it off and continued rinsing the plate in her hand. "It was Dusty who set your spot earlier. I hardly even noticed until we sat down. Maybe he didn't notice either. But...he really looks up to you, I think."

For a moment, Steve didn't reply. What was one supposed to say to that? Was one even supposed to say _anything_ to that? 

What he ended up saying was a simple, rather lame, "I guess so." Then Dustin came and saved him by revealing that he had rented _Trading Places_ ("We get to see Jamie Lee's breasts," he hissed conspiratorially) and they were off to the television. 

But from then on, Steve acted a little differently around Dustin, and around the rest of the party. If you had asked him before that night, he wouldn't have been able to tell you what he thought their relationship was. Friends? Maybe, though it was weird to say his best friend was someone over four years younger than him. Mentor/protege? "Mentor" made him sound sixty-five, but Steve was prone to offering Dustin advice from time-to-time. Hell, he may have even told you he was now, "Soccer Mom Steve," a nickname gifted to him by Tommy H. as an official demotion from the rank of Hawkins High King. But whatever he was, he was a role model. That was something new for Steve, and something he had to admit he kind of liked. 

**2\. Don't make me get out my bat - Winter 1987**

It was January, and Lovers' Lake was not usually so populated in January, but it was an oddly warm weekend--warm enough that making out in a car with the heater on sounded comfortable--and so Steve found himself busting multiple couples in various stages of dress that evening. He hated this part of the job. There were a lot of reasons why. For one thing, it was just _awkward_. There were actual people having or getting close to having actual sexual intercourse in their backseats, and he, Steve Harrington, was interrupting them (which was funny in and of itself, because there was a time when he could have easily been one of those people). Callahan made it seem easy; he wasn't fazed by the awkwardness or by the names the teenagers would call him when he shined his flashlight in their eyes and ordered them to drive off. Then again, Callahan was what Steve would call "socially inept" (a fancy term he'd learned from hanging out with a bunch of smartmouth kids), and he probably just didn't even realize that this situation was supposed to be awkward. Nevertheless, he had no problem banging away at the windows of complete strangers, while Steve approached with more of a light knocking, doing his best to appear confident. 

But the worst part?

The worst part was when he caught somebody he knew. 

The first time it had been Robin and her girlfriend. Once again, a younger version of Steve would have reacted completely differently. This version just winced and tried his best not to make eye contact. He apologized profusely the next day, and Robin had simply bumped her shoulder against his and said, "Relax. It's your job." Which, that helped, but damned if she didn't tease him about how obviously flustered he was for the next few weeks.

Who else? There was Mike and El, not once but three separate times, because those two were desperately in love and they probably proved it to each other almost every time they were alone. Steve still didn't feel as close to the two of them as he did with other members of the Hawkins Inter-dimensional Threat Response Team, so it didn't affect him as much. Dustin had once assured him that that was a feeling everyone in the Party had had to come to terms with at some point or another. Mike and El just _knew_ each other, deeply and intimately, holding a bond that seemed unreal. Maybe because it was. Steve always theorized this bond probably stemmed from El's abilities. They always seemed to be acutely aware of how the other was feeling at any given moment. Sometimes they would sit and cuddle and smile like they were whispering sweet nothings into each others' ears even though no words were coming out of their mouths. Steve thought that maybe they had reached the point of being able to hold actual telepathic conversations with one another, but thought it was too personal a question to ask.

The time he caught Lucas and Max was a different story, though maybe he wouldn't have known it would be beforehand. With Billy long gone, Max was still living with her cruel stepfather and her mother, who was apparently spineless and not independent enough to live without said bastard of a man. That house wasn't always the quietest or safest place to live in, and Steve could tell that in spite of everything he used to do to her, Max missed having an older brother around. So they had worked out an arrangement a while back: she would spend the night at his apartment anytime she felt lonely or scared and sneaking into Lucas' bedroom window wasn't an option. It usually was, so she had only had to come by a few times before, but the ideas of "Steve Harrington" and "a safe place to be" started to blur together pretty quickly anyway. Steve would never admit it--because honestly, no one even needed to know about this setup in the first place for fear of someone jumping to any _very wrong_ conclusions about Officer Harrington and the minor sleeping over at his place--but he liked being Max's new big brother. And though she would never admit it either, Max liked it too.

So the time Steve caught Lucas and Max at Lovers' Lake was just different than the times he caught Mike and El, or Robin or anybody else. When their faces popped up from the backseat and he realized whose car he had discovered, some strange, alien instinct kicked in. Steve _knew_ Lucas, knew who he was and knew he and Max had a pretty good relationship and that neither of them had ever done anything to the other that was truly, permanently upsetting. 

He raised his voice anyway. 

"Sinclair! Put your damn shirt on and get your ass out here!" he ordered. 

Lucas and Max began fumbling with their clothes. At one point Lucas almost put on his girlfriend's shirt, and even when he finally put on his own shirt, it was inside out. He hurried out of the car and stood hilariously straight--almost at attention--and looked at Steve with a mixture of nervousness and annoyance. 

Steve maintained eye contact, one of the things he never did when busting horny teenagers. Max was still collecting herself in the car. 

"Whose idea was this?" he demanded.

"Mine," Lucas answered truthfully, which Steve had to give him points for. He stroked the mustache he had been growing lately, just to see how it looked with his uniform on.

"And she agreed the first time you asked? You didn't pressure her into it?"

Lucas' face changed from annoyed to confused. "What? No! Of course not!"

Steve nodded satisfactorily, then aimed the pointer finger of his free hand. "Good. Don't make me go home and get my nail bat."

"Right..." Lucas said. "Can we go now?"

"Yeah, go," Steve waved him off. " _Home_. Not somewhere else to do the same thing. Hear me?"

"Yes!"

Lucas jumped back into the car, this time in the driver's seat. Max exited the backseat and opened the door to the passenger's side. She tossed Steve a dirty look as she went. 

"You could have just left us alone!" she complained.

Steve chose not to answer that directly, instead going with, "Just go home and be safe, okay? You almost..."

As Lucas' car drove off, the words _gave me a heart attack_ died on Steve's lips. Again, he knew Lucas and knew he was a good guy. But there was something very off-putting about picturing Max in this kind of scenario, and Steve really hoped he didn't accidentally catch them again. 

**3\. I know it's weird, but I'm still here for you - Spring 1986**

"My! God! Just! Park!" 

Each of the words in Steve's sentence came out as their own separate sentence as his body jolted along with the car Dustin was desperately trying to put into park. Notable grunts of complaint came from Lucas and Max in the backseat. Finally, the car came to a complete stop and Dustin offered a triumphant grin. 

"That wasn't so bad, right?"

"Sure, man," Steve said, trying to decide what specific moment in his life had led to him giving impromptu driving lessons to a fifteen-year-old. Probably that time in the second grade he ordered one too many chili dogs at the county fair. That had always seemed like a bad decision in retrospect (more likely it was running back into a house with flashing Christmas lights to fight an inter-dimensional monster with a baseball bat, but one never knew for sure).

Whether it was the chili dog or the baseball bat, didn't seem to matter. Henderson was a smart kid, but he wasn't taking to driving quite the way Max and even Lucas were. And Steve was really hoping that the whole Party could have their driver's licenses by summer, so maybe he wouldn't have to cart them around quite as often as he used to.

For the moment, though, the plan was to stop by the Wheeler house so Dustin could get some library book he had left behind yesterday, otherwise "Marissa would kill him." Steve assumed Marissa was the name of the librarian. He didn't exactly go the library often enough to know.

"Okay," he gestured at the lovely white two-story house to his right. "We'll wait here."

Dustin frowned at him expectantly. "Uh, shouldn't you go in?"

"Uh, why would I do that?" Steve replied, matching Dustin's tone.

"Because I'm the driver, and you're the passenger. The passenger always runs the errands while the driver waits and keeps the car running."

"That's true," Lucas piped up from the backseat.

Steve tossed him a glare, knowing he was only encouraging Dustin in an effort to be annoying. And it was working.

"Let me explain to you dipshits how the chain of command works," Steve said firmly. "I tell you to do something, and you do it. End of damn story."

Dustin's real teeth had since grown in, but that stupid fucking smile still worked the same adorable charm it had when he was twelve. "Rock-paper-scissors for it?" he asked, reaching out an open palm and a closed fist.

_Don't let the smile charm you, don't let the smile charm you, don't let the..._

"Fine."

Two rock-paper-scissors rounds later, Steve found himself exiting the car with a last order to not turn up the radio too loud and damage the speakers.

Walking up to the front door of the Wheeler house was always awkward. For one thing, Steve hadn't exactly belonged there since he had stopped dating Nancy, and even when they _were_ dating, he almost never used the front door because he almost never came over when her parents were aware of it. And now...well...

Nowadays it was awkward because he could always hear Ted and Karen fighting about something or the other as he strolled up the porch. Then he would knock and things would settle down in time for Karen to open the door and greet him with a smile as though nothing were wrong in suburban America. Only today, Steve knocked three separate times and the bickering continued. He decided he wasn't getting in that way, and since Dustin had almost certainly left his library book in the basement anyway, Steve jogged around the house and found the basement door unlocked.

Inside, he scanned the table that had once been used for the Party's near-weekly D&D sessions and his eyes landed almost instantly upon the lost library book. 

"Nice," he whispered victoriously. Just as he bent to pick it up, he stopped, sensing someone else in the room. 

_Bat, where's your bat, grab your bat..._

_...you don't need the bat._

It was just Mike, sitting alone on the couch, still enough to blend right in. He turned to give Steve the faintest of acknowledging nods. Steve gave an awkward half-wave in return. 

"Just picking this up," he said, holding up the library book.

Mike nodded. "'s fine," he said.

Upstairs, Karen voiced a particularly loud complaint to her husband, still muffled enough that Steve couldn't clearly make anything out except that she was very angry this time. Since Mike was alone, he assumed Holly was over at a friend's house. And a good thing, too.

Inwardly, Steve groaned, feeling something invisible tugging him over to the couch. Tucking the library book under one arm, he shuffled over and plopped down next to Mike, who barely gave him a look. 

"If it's any consolation--"

"No offense, but I really don't need any false comfort right now," Mike interrupted. "They fight, that's all there is to it. At this point, I _want_ them to get a divorce. Just to have it quiet around here."

Steve paused, then cleared his throat. "Right," he nodded. "Got it."

He started to stand up, then stopped. "Look, I just..." Just what? He got lost looking for the right words long enough for Mike to finally give him one of those trademark Wheeler frowns. 

"I just...I know how it is. To have parents who fight. To have a dad who doesn't really care to know what's going on with you. And I know I dated your sister and it's super weird and whatever, but if you ever need anything..."

"Thanks, Steve," Mike said, keeping his eyes on the floor. Though the boy's expression was blank, Steve felt like he knew everything going through Mike's head. How exhausted he was of listening to his parents' shit. How determined he was to live a life with the girl he loved that wouldn't turn into this. 

A distant car honk brought Steve out of his thoughts.

"Dustin's ready to go," he said aloud, and stood up. Mike nodded. 

Tossing the library book from one hand to the other, Steve made a final offer. "Feel like going for a joyride? It won't be a smooth one, but I'll let you get in some practice with the other dipshits."

Mike waited an uncharacteristically short amount of time to reply. "Yeah," he said with a small grin. "Yeah, sure."

**4\. Sorry it couldn't have been me - Winter 1985**

"What the actual fuck is this?"

Steve barely managed to keep his voice low enough that Mrs. Wheeler and Holly (not Ted, who was undoubtedly asleep) wouldn't hear. He was standing in the Wheeler basement, hands on his hips, about to tell everyone to get outside and have a damn nice time watching the New Year's Eve fireworks, when he saw that there was one too many kids hanging out down here. 

The extra kid in question looked at him with well-trained doe eyes that Steve just knew her old man must have fallen for a thousand times (because, if he was being honest, he was already finding it difficult to be mad). 

"Steve, I promised you would be cool about this," Dustin began. 

"You need to stop making promises for me without even consulting me," Steve interrupted. "What's Eleven doing here?"

The voices of Dustin, Lucas and Max chorused together as they each blurted out a very different but equally unbelievable excuse. El quickly cut them off and looked at Steve even more sheepishly than before, both her arms wrapped tenderly around one of Mike's, who looked like he didn't know _what_ to do.

"I...was lonely," El said softly. "I saw everyone when they visited at Christmas. I wasn't ready for them to leave."

"She came down to see us again," Mike added. "Just for a little while. That's all."

"Okay, but how?" Steve asked. "I don't see any Byerses around, so clearly no one drove you."

"I took the bus."

"From _Chicago?_ "

"Did it before."

Steve had remained previously unaware of El's trip to visit her sister and blinked in surprise. "Okay...well...that doesn't make it right," he stammered, flustered. "Mrs. Byers..."

"She'll know not to worry," El insisted. "I left a note."

"Uh, I know Mrs. Byers, and she's gonna worry anyway," Steve said. 

For a moment, no one said another word. The Party just kept staring at Steve, and not for the first time in his life, Steve wanted to kick his own ass for how soft he was getting. 

_Damn son of a bitch doe eyes._

"Alright," he sighed, running his hands over his face and accepting the fact that these kids would be the death of him. "Alright, you can stay the night. But I'm calling Mrs. Byers _right now_ so she knows your safe, and tomorrow you're going home first thing. And not on a bus, either. I'll be driving you. Got it?"

"Got it," El agreed instantly, clutching Mike ever closer. Steve couldn't help but feel some pity for them. It wasn't right, them having to live so far apart. Any of them, really. Mike, El, Will, Dustin, Lucas, Max, they all belonged together. Hanging out in the same places, bickering over the same dumb disagreements, laughing over the same jokes. It just wasn't right that life had forced them apart like it had a few months ago, but what could be done? Nothing that was in Steve's power to do, that was certain.

But it _was_ in his power to let them have just one night, and hell, he believed in love. Why not?

So he called Mrs. Byers, who had indeed been worried when she found El gone with nothing but a note in her place, but sounded like she would rest well once Steve had explained everything and let her know that El was in good hands. Then the kids went out to watch the fireworks.

It was past two a.m. before they all fell asleep: Dustin on the floor, Lucas and Max on the couch and Mike and El in the tent that the latter had apparently once been hidden in for a week without anyone knowing. Steve rose from his chair and flicked off the television. His eyes were burning. He wanted to go to sleep, but on nights like this, when he was hanging out with all the kids, it was difficult. He needed to stay awake, because if he didn't, who was going to be watching for Demodogs and possessed people and God knew what else? And yeah, it seemed the Upside Down was only ever intent on striking once a damn year, but he wasn't taking any chances. _Couldn't_ take any chances. He actually, physically couldn't force himself to do it.

Sighing and rubbing his palms over his eyes, Steve grabbed a half-empty bag of chips from Dustin's snoring form and marched out the basement door. Being outside in the cold air for a few minutes would wake him right up. 

The bag of chips was empty before he knew it, and just as he was getting ready to go inside, the basement door opened and El herself walked out. She promptly sat down next to him, and since she still wasn't too big on words a lot of the time, Steve took it she wanted to talk. 

"Thank you," she said slowly, her eyes aimed upward at the full moon. "I know I can't do this again. It's not right to make Joyce worry. I just..."

"You miss them," Steve finished for her. "I get it. I do. Honestly, there's nothing to be sorry for. I would probably do it every weekend if I were in your shoes."

"In...my shoes?" El repeated curiously. 

_Oh, that's right_. "Uh, you know, just...like, if I were in the position that you're in now," Steve amended. "Not the position that you're sitting in like right this moment, but..."

"You mean if you had to move?" 

"Right, exactly."

"I wish I could do this every weekend," El admitted. "It's very hard, sometimes. Sometimes, being with Mike, and with my friends, is the only thing that makes it...bear-a-ble."

_Word of the day,_ Steve thought to himself when she took a moment to sound out the last word.

"By 'it' you mean..." He didn't complete the question, and he could read her expression easily enough to know he didn't have to. 

Perhaps if there was anything more unfair than forcing this group of kids apart from one another, it was taking away this poor, sweet girl's only chance at having a real father. Steve didn't notice, but as he was thinking over the situation, El was plucking constantly at the blue hairband on her left wrist. He thought again of the urge he always felt to stay awake while the kids were asleep. To watch over them constantly. He realized that that feeling had never been quite as strong as it was after Hopper was gone, because before it was always Hopper's job.

"Maybe it should have been me," he said aloud, not even sure El would pick up on what he meant. "I just...I've got less to lose. And everybody else wouldn't have been as affected if they lost me."

A gentle, small hand wrapped around his. Steve glanced over, and El had finally taken her eyes off the sky and was staring intently at him. 

"Not true," she said. "Dustin would be losing something big." With her eyes tearing over, she gave him a smile. "I don't wish it was you."

Then she stood up and walked back inside. In spite of everything, Steve sat outside another twenty minutes, raising his head to look around every time the nature around him made a sound.

**5\. This is one problem I don't know how to handle - Summer 1986**

The first new summer since the Byerses had moved out of Hawkins, they came back. It wouldn't be for forever--it probably wouldn't even be for the whole summer--but they took over two rooms of the Motel 6 on Cornwallis in the early days of June and Steve got the feeling they wouldn't be leaving until after the Fourth of July. That was a painful anniversary for a lot of the Party now, and everyone wanted to be together when it happened, to help each other through it. 

This particular night, Jonathan was out with Nancy and the Party was having a raucous blast in one of the two rooms. In the other, Mrs. Byers was trying her hand at making homemade ice cream. _Everyone needs a hobby_ , Steve supposed. One of the only times everyone quieted down was when she brought the ice cream into their room for them to try. To be fair, it wasn't as bad as Steve might have expected, based on the poor woman's unfortunate reputation as a cook. It tasted okay, there was just something a little sludgy and lumpy about it. But he forced it down with a smile, and everyone thanked her. Joyce left the kids on their own once more, with a warning to keep it down. Not that there were many guests spending the night in a motel in Hawkins, Indiana anyway.

Around the middle of the second horror movie the kids were watching, Steve decided to get a soda from the vending machine outside. He returned to the door to find Will leaning against it, listening to the sounds of his friends having fun inside. Steve looked at him questioningly, and the smaller boy shrugged weakly and said, "I needed some air."

"Yeah," Steve agreed, offering his unopened drink. Will shook his head, so Steve opened it and took a long swig. 

"How did you get over Nancy?" Will asked abruptly. 

There was a gag as Steve choked a little on his soda. He cleared his throat. "I, uh...well, I don't know. One day I just woke up and that was it. I was over it."

"Oh," was all Will said.

Steve put on a chipper smirk. "What's the deal, Byers? You got a Juliet back in Chicago? Won't give you the time of day?"

"No."

"C'mon, you can tell me. I bet I could give you some pointers. I helped Dustin back in the day, you know."

"It's...it's not a Juliet," Will whispered. 

_Oh,_ Steve thought. 

"Oh," he also said out loud. 

Will looked over at him worriedly, looking for a reaction. A bad one. Steve didn't have one. He couldn't say he really understood, though he was always trying to be as open about that sort of thing as possible since last year, but he did know that Will had been through too much to deserve any sort of judgment over something like this. 

_Why is it always me that gets this gig?_ he asked himself, wishing that Robin wasn't working tonight. She would probably have exactly the right words of comfort for Will, having been in his shoes not so long ago. But Steve?

"I really wish I knew what to tell you," he said. "I mean, if it helps, I think the same principle applies. One day, you'll just get over this person. Or, you know, you could try to...I don't know, find out if he feels the same way."

"He doesn't," Will said. "I know that much. He's in love with a girl. Has been for a long time. And some days I don't want to admit it, but she's awesome. I can't blame him, really."

Not so suddenly, Steve began to get the feeling that he knew exactly who Will was talking about, but the kid didn't seem like he thought Steve would guess it, or else just didn't care if he did or not. 

"Well...then...maybe it is better to keep it to yourself, in that case," he said slowly, unsurely. 

"But it _hurts_ ," Will said, starting to tear up. "It really hurts."

Hesitantly, Steve raised the hand that wasn't holding his drink and clapped it gently on Will's shoulder. "Yeah, I get it. I get that part, for sure. I'm sorry, man. I wish I knew how to help you more."

"It's okay," Will assured him. "I don't expect you to or anything."

That was all well and good, but Steve expected himself to be able to help. That was his job, wasn't it? Unspoken and unofficial, maybe, but his job nonetheless. He really shouldn't leave Will at this moment, but Steve suddenly felt some strange, biting nervousness overwhelming him, and he became hyper-aware of his own heartbeat. He tried to form the words to assure Will that he would get Robin to talk to him, that she would know exactly how to make him feel better about this whole situation, but instead all he managed to say was, "I...uh...I'll be right back, I need to..." 

And then he was hurrying inside the room that the kids weren't in, leaving Will outside.

**+1. I feel responsible - Summer 1986**

Walking to the bathroom was almost like an out-of-body experience for Steve. He hardly realized he was doing it; hardly saw two feet in front of him, with the pain in Will's eyes still fresh on his mind. Then suddenly it was all there. The pain they _all_ felt. Dustin, Max, Lucas, Mike, El, Will, all of them. They were all his responsibility, weighing on his shoulders. Nobody had ever said it was so, but what the hell was he supposed to do? Just sit around and watch as nobody else took it upon themselves to guide those poor kids through the worst years of their lives?

_When the fuck did I become such a good person?_ Steve thought, and then, not even considering that someone might walk in and find him, he rested his forearms against the sink and started to cry, head bent down so he wouldn't have to look at his puffy face in the mirror. He missed Hopper. He didn't know it was possible to miss someone you hadn't really known, but he did. He missed feeling like he wasn't supposed to be the man of the family--this odd little family of people who knew deep, dark secrets about Hawkins that no one else could ever know. He missed feeling like he was just along for the ride instead of feeling like the next time some giant, fleshy monster or army of Russians showed up, it was going to be up to him to make sure everyone was okay. Just him. Steve "the Hair" Harrington.

"Steve, is that you?"

Instinctively, Steve shot up from his position at the sink, ran his hands under the water and splashed it across his face in a vain attempt to hide that his eyes were watery. He chanced a quick glance at the doorway. It was Mrs. Byers who was standing there, probably over a foot shorter than him with her constantly crinkled brow and worried eyes gazing at him. In his panic, he had honestly forgotten she would even be in the room. He had undoubtedly passed right by her as he walked to the bathroom.

"Hey," he said, and finding his voice was coarse, cleared his throat and repeated himself. "Hey. Just, uh, just washing up. That was good ice cream you made. Really good."

Even if Joyce had been stupid enough to not notice Steve's red eyes, him bringing up the ice cream a good three hours after she had made it was obvious enough.

_The woman was born to be a mother, you have to give her that,_ Steve thought. He sort of just stood there as Mrs. Byers stepped into the bathroom and wrapped a gentle arm around him. He suddenly thought of the time he and Jonathan had traded punches a couple years ago and felt absurdly guilty that they had never really cleared things up with one another after that. Not that shaking hands would make it any less weird that Jonathan's mother was the one comforting him in the bathroom of a motel. 

"What is it, sweetie?" she asked. "You can talk to me."

Steve wasn't sure he even knew the right words. But then Mrs. Byers started rubbing her hand in small circles on his back the way his own mother hadn't done to him since he was a child, and that was all she needed to do to coax everything out of him.

"You know how you and your husband divorced a few years ago?" 

The look on Joyce's face was somewhere between incredulous and bewildered, and Steve couldn't blame her. _You absolute fucking moron,_ he chided himself. _Better keep talking so nobody has to dwell on that_.

Before she could respond, Steve hurriedly continued, "And it's just that, your son's outside right now, dealing with something that his dad should be there to help him deal with, only he's not. And Mike, you know Mike?" _Yes, she knows Mike, dipshit. Stop asking ridiculous questions_. "Kid's annoying, but he's got a good heart, and it's just getting crushed constantly because his old man doesn't give a damn about him or anything he does. Doesn't even know him, really. And Dustin, he barely even remembers what it was like to have a dad in the house at all..."

"Oh, Steve," Mrs. Byers sighed, and instantly Steve knew she understood. He turned to face her completely, and he may have been twenty years old, but he melted into her arms like he was ten and didn't even care. Before he knew it, he was sobbing again.

"This is not yours to bear alone, honey," Mrs. Byers whispered. "It's just not."

"Then why does it feel like it is?" Steve asked between staggered breaths. "You know, these kids are everything to me. I've got nothing else."

"No, that's not true," Joyce insisted. "You have friends. Nancy and Jonathan and Robin, they are your _friends_. No matter what's happened between you in the past. And I'm always here. I know what you're feeling, trust me. When Lonnie left, I thought I was going to have to fight my way through every day to make sure my boys had three decent meals. Then Mrs. Wheeler, she started bringing me a casserole every week. And my boss, he helped give me extra shifts during times that worked best for me. And I made it work. We'll make it work. I know how it must feel being one of the only men these kids look up to, but you can't pressure yourself like this. If Hopper were here, he'd tell you the same thing. He felt this way too, you know. He pretended to hate Mike because Mike was dating Eleven, but really, he knew what that boy was going through at home that whole year she was missing, and he tried his best to get rid of his frustration and be a decent role model."

"I'm told he kinda sucked at it," Steve managed, laughing a little through his distress.

Mrs. Byers laughed back, then moved a shaky hand up to her own eyes and dabbed at them. "Yeah, he did," she agreed fondly. "He did. But he kept trying. And that's all you have to do. Don't be perfect, because you won't be. Just be _there_. Do that, and you're already doing better than Lonnie or anybody else."

Steve nodded against her shoulder, and then leaned out of the embrace, running his hands through his hair. After looking over him one last time to make sure he was okay, Joyce went to check on Will. Steve stayed in the bathroom a while longer, looking at himself in the mirror and wondering if he ought to grow a mustache.

**Author's Note:**

> I remain in the Deputy Steve boat. I want it to happen.


End file.
